the telling makes his heart throb harder, and his eyes fill up, and the
writing look dim to him, as he tries to put the words down.

Listen: _He was in the world, and the world was made through Him, and
the world recognized, or rather acknowledged, Him not._ It was His
world, His child, His creation. He had made it. But it failed to
acknowledge Him. He came walking down the street of life. He met the
world going the other way. And He gave it a warm good-morning greeting.
And it knew Him full well. It knew who He was. But it turned its face
aside and walked by with no return greeting. This is what John is
saying. It recognized, it acknowledged Him not.

You mothers know the glad hour that comes in a mother's life when her
little babe of the wee weeks knows her _for the first time._ She's busy
bathing or nursing, or, she's just hovering over the precious morsel of
humanity when there's really nothing needing to be done. And the babe's
eyes catch her own and _a smile comes,_ the first smile of recognition.
And the mother-heart gives a glad leap. She murmurs to herself, "Oh,
baby knows me!"

And when the father comes home that night she greets him with, "Baby
knew me to-day." And there's a soft bell-like tender ring in her voice
that vibrates on the strings of his heart. And all the folks within
range are advised of the day's event. And the mother clear forgets all
the sharp-cutting pain back there just a little before, in this joy,
this look of recognition.

I knew of a woman. She was of an old family, of unusual native gift, and
rare accomplishment. And her babe came. And the time came when
ordinarily there would be that first sweet look of recognition, but--_it